executioner mannequin, hoodless and predatory, stepped forward, ax firmly in its hands. A wide nose sat flat above a lantern jaw, and the pale light from the room's dusty windows gave its face a waxy complexion like a bad makeup job in a low-budget horror movie. It glared at Melinda and Edward with a pair of bloodshot eyes. "You stole my 'ood."
Edward drew himself up. "A prince does not 'steal' anything. He
appropriates."
"Which is exactly stealing!"
"I have need of it," Edward said, almost carelessly, but the fine tension in his shoulders and the wide ready stance betrayed him.
"You 'ave
need
of it?" The executioner was working himself into a fine rage. "So you just take it? Young scoundrels! No manners or moral fiber or, or even a shred of decency. None!"
Edward shrugged, and Melinda's palms grew clammy with sweat. This was no time for fairy-tale heroics; he'd said that ax was sharp. "We didn't mean anything?" she tried. "We're very sorry?"
The executioner seemed not to hear her. "Why, when I was your age, I prayed every night for my 'ternal soul, so I did. So's I might overcome temptation and remain pure in body and spirit."
"If you are that concerned with your purity, perhaps a resignation from your post would be in order," Edward said in his haughtiest and most princely voice. "Beheading women for failure to bear a boy for their husbands is beneath a true gentleman's code of honor. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Melinda inwardly agreed with Edward, but really, must he choose
now
to talk about it with an angry ax mannequin?
The executioner let out a scream of frustration. "You're worse than a bleedin' Spaniard!" He raised his weapon. "I'll not stand to be insulted by thieves!"
The ax cut through the air. Edward jumped on Melinda, knocking her over. The two of them went tumbling across the carpet, and she heard the executioner's blade whispering just before it slammed into the floor an inch from her head. Edward's big body crushed her, and adrenaline and shock made her shake.
"Do these dolls often come alive?" he said.
"No!" she wheezed.
"It must be the Evil Witch."
"You shouldn't have taken his hood! Then he wouldn't be so mad!" She could hear the executioner grunting as he worked to free his ax from the floor.
"Foolish woman. You should've let me take his ax when I had the chance."
The executioner finally wrenched the ax free. He glanced at Anne Boleyn's portrait. "'Tis time to behead Queen Anne!" he wailed and thumped the wall with a meaty fist. He raised his weapon and pointed at Edward. "Give me my 'ood back, thief! Or so 'elp me I'll cut off your bloody 'ands!"
Edward had rolled to a ready crouch. "So you actually do cut off people's hands," he said incredulously. "How barbaric. No wonder you didn't understand anything about our court system."
She was forming a tart reply when suddenly inspiration struck. She'd watched a movie about Anne Boleyn. Hollywood wasn't famous for its historical accuracy, but it was worth a try. "Hey, Mr. Executioner, you aren't supposed to kill her with an ax. Remember?" she called out.
The mannequin stopped his ranting and turned toward her. His expression changed from angry to somewhat distressed. "Well...it's a special circumstance, y'see. Queen Anne, I mean." His expression started to change back. "But I can't do my job until I have my 'ood back, so it's a moot point until this thief 'ere--"
"But maybe you should get the sword first, and
then
the hood," she said. "I mean it's really important that you have everything ready to go, isn't it? Or else His Majesty might be displeased."
"I s'pose you're right. I was told to sever 'er neck with a clean blow." He gave her a significant look. "Not many executioners can boast such skills, you know. There's a reason 'Is 'Ighness favors me."
Ugh. She felt her coffee start to come up, but whatever kept him talking.
"A good broadsword," he mused. "I 'ope they sharpen it up right..."
"Why don't you check? It'll be such a
Edward drew himself up. "A prince does not 'steal' anything. He
appropriates."
"Which is exactly stealing!"
"I have need of it," Edward said, almost carelessly, but the fine tension in his shoulders and the wide ready stance betrayed him.
"You 'ave
need
of it?" The executioner was working himself into a fine rage. "So you just take it? Young scoundrels! No manners or moral fiber or, or even a shred of decency. None!"
Edward shrugged, and Melinda's palms grew clammy with sweat. This was no time for fairy-tale heroics; he'd said that ax was sharp. "We didn't mean anything?" she tried. "We're very sorry?"
The executioner seemed not to hear her. "Why, when I was your age, I prayed every night for my 'ternal soul, so I did. So's I might overcome temptation and remain pure in body and spirit."
"If you are that concerned with your purity, perhaps a resignation from your post would be in order," Edward said in his haughtiest and most princely voice. "Beheading women for failure to bear a boy for their husbands is beneath a true gentleman's code of honor. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Melinda inwardly agreed with Edward, but really, must he choose
now
to talk about it with an angry ax mannequin?
The executioner let out a scream of frustration. "You're worse than a bleedin' Spaniard!" He raised his weapon. "I'll not stand to be insulted by thieves!"
The ax cut through the air. Edward jumped on Melinda, knocking her over. The two of them went tumbling across the carpet, and she heard the executioner's blade whispering just before it slammed into the floor an inch from her head. Edward's big body crushed her, and adrenaline and shock made her shake.
"Do these dolls often come alive?" he said.
"No!" she wheezed.
"It must be the Evil Witch."
"You shouldn't have taken his hood! Then he wouldn't be so mad!" She could hear the executioner grunting as he worked to free his ax from the floor.
"Foolish woman. You should've let me take his ax when I had the chance."
The executioner finally wrenched the ax free. He glanced at Anne Boleyn's portrait. "'Tis time to behead Queen Anne!" he wailed and thumped the wall with a meaty fist. He raised his weapon and pointed at Edward. "Give me my 'ood back, thief! Or so 'elp me I'll cut off your bloody 'ands!"
Edward had rolled to a ready crouch. "So you actually do cut off people's hands," he said incredulously. "How barbaric. No wonder you didn't understand anything about our court system."
She was forming a tart reply when suddenly inspiration struck. She'd watched a movie about Anne Boleyn. Hollywood wasn't famous for its historical accuracy, but it was worth a try. "Hey, Mr. Executioner, you aren't supposed to kill her with an ax. Remember?" she called out.
The mannequin stopped his ranting and turned toward her. His expression changed from angry to somewhat distressed. "Well...it's a special circumstance, y'see. Queen Anne, I mean." His expression started to change back. "But I can't do my job until I have my 'ood back, so it's a moot point until this thief 'ere--"
"But maybe you should get the sword first, and
then
the hood," she said. "I mean it's really important that you have everything ready to go, isn't it? Or else His Majesty might be displeased."
"I s'pose you're right. I was told to sever 'er neck with a clean blow." He gave her a significant look. "Not many executioners can boast such skills, you know. There's a reason 'Is 'Ighness favors me."
Ugh. She felt her coffee start to come up, but whatever kept him talking.
"A good broadsword," he mused. "I 'ope they sharpen it up right..."
"Why don't you check? It'll be such a
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